Open My Eyes
by emilykaywrites
Summary: Kurt Hummel has always been an outcast. Bullied and teased because of his sexual orientation, and unstoppable love for all things music and fashion. While these things help remedy him, he needs something more. Someone who understands him, and will love him for who he is. Little did he know he'd find that at William McKinley High in the form of one Blaine Anderson. Later smut.
1. Chapter 1

A/N - A story I began a while back that originally wasn't Klaine, just random characters I made up in my head. Going back and reading through it, I realized I really liked it, and converted it to Klaine from there. Enjoy! :)

**Chapter One**

"The bullying was getting so bad I couldn't even bring myself to tell my father. I just tried to cover up the bruises the best I could, and act like nothing was wrong."

I sit down on the cool stone ledge and begin removing the foil from the cold cafeteria hamburger. I sit alone, as I almost always do.

I've always been an outcast – the queer boy with the 'bitchy' (as everyone liked to call it) attitude. I was always the boy who had crushes on impossible guys, straight males (outside of Glee Club – and even they took forever) were jocks and homophobic assholes, and girls were as close as real friends got – more relatable. You know, "being gay and all." But even they wore on my nerves and occasionally betrayed me.

My home life was decent, but it wasn't exactly spectacular. I lived with my dad and that was that. My mom died when I was eight, but I'd really rather not hash out all the details.

I had been bullied for as far back as I could remember. Other kids calling me 'queer' and 'fag' on the playground, and pathetic me, not even knowing what those words meant.

I asked my father the meaning of the words – I knew they couldn't be nice – but the pained expression on his face told me not to expect an answer, and not to ask again. So I went to my room and booted up the old computer my mother left and figured out the meaning for myself.

I was 16 when I finally came out to my father, although I'd already received torment for years without even being fully out.

He embraced me with strong, warm, loving arms, and that was that.

The taunting turned into cruel slander being spray painted across my locker, and the side of my Navigator. Slander turned into being repeatedly tossed into dumpsters and shoved into lockers. I couldn't tell you how many concussions I received – and hid form my father – bruises I had to cover, bruises that sometimes covered my neck and face, calling for extremely imaginative fashion choices.

I got good at applying make-up, so that it looked natural – Heaven forbid I give myself an actual reason to be called "Lady Queer."

I couldn't remember the last time I was truly happy. When was the last time I actually smiled? Not just a fake mask meant to cover the pain?

What went wrong? What shattered the confidence I had spent years of reading Vogue and researching Gay Pride, and ways to hold your head high, to build up? What caused it to disappear so quickly…?

So many questions, not enough answers.

I'm about to take my first bite, when some short kid with a curly mop of hair plops down beside me.

After a few strained moments of silence, I ask, "May I help you?" I don't even turn to look at him. He's probably just like the others and no way am I giving him the pleasure of eye contact.

"Uh, not really. Just saw you sitting alone, and thought I'd join. Is that alright?"

I steal a cautious side-ways glance at him, and what I see nearly takes my breath away.

This kid is cute. Dark, rich brown hair, the naturally curly locks breaking free from the amount of gel placed to impossibly tame them, and the most stunning shade of hazel eyes I have ever seen. Almost a caramel color.

I quickly snap my gaze away from him, the color rising to fill my cheeks. _Staring at someone here to potentially beat you up? Smooth, Kurt. Real smooth. But he's so pretty…. KURT! _

"What do you _really_ want?" I questioned, snapping myself from my internal monologue. I was beginning to get irritated with this obnoxious stranger. Not only was he sitting in my personal space bubble, but his ridiculously beautiful face was mere inches from mine and it was quite distracting. I couldn't afford to be distracted. He's dangerous, I have to remind myself.

"I already told you. You were sitting alone and I figured you might want a conversational partner. I'm Blaine by the way," he told me, flashing a mega-watt smile that nearly knocked me breathless, his coffee scented breath washing over my face.

"Well, yes, I am sitting alone. But maybe I am on purpose," I stated dryly. The sense of unease I felt when he first sat down is starting to wear off. I can't tell if that's good or not…

"Why would you sit alone? Don't you have friends? It's a pretty big school…," he trailed off, looking at me expectantly.

I heaved a sigh. "I'm sitting alone because – because I'm gay, alright? You may now proceed to make crude jokes and beat the shit out of me. My name's Kurt Hummel by the way, so you can tell the police who I am when my identifiable features have been beaten out of me later.

I expected immediate derogatory slurs, and maybe a slap, or hit. But instead I was met with silence.

I chanced a careful glance upward, only to meet the somewhat amused look on Blaine's face.

"Hello Kurt Hummel. I'm Blaine Anderson. Former Dalton Academy Warbler, and 100% gay male. Nice to meet you." And then he flashed that damned smile again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

5th period, my first class after lunch, was boring as usual. I sat at the very back of the room in a small, secluded corner. No one bothered me here, so I was able to listen to the droning voice of my French teacher, Mr. Snow without being disturbed.

French is easy. I get it better than any of the other students. Even jackass Amzimio finds himself asking for help, then telling me not to tell anyone, or "kick my faggot ass". I'm not scared of Azimio – never have been. He's only Karofsky's goon – his little puppy dog that follows his every move.

Before this past summer, you could count on me to be in the front of the class – correcting the subs (and even the teacher – I knew the material almost better than he did), talking to Mercedes and Rachel… The thought of my two former best friends wasn't such a good idea, so I tried to focus my attention on Mr. Snow.

Last year, despite the bullying that got worse each day and Rachel taking all the solos, was pretty fantastic. I was a sophomore here at WMHS, a bright, eager to learn student. "Potential-bearing" as my favorite teacher, Mr. Schuester used to say.

The thought of my former Glee Club director was enough that tears sprung in my eyes. I blinked furiously, trying to clear my eyes. I did the exact opposite of what I should have done, which was hold my eyes open as wide as I could. Blinking like that made the tears spill. I wiped away the evidence on my sleeve before someone noticed. The last thing I needed was another rumor going around. I tried my hardest to make it seem like I didn't care. Like their jibes meant nothing. So far, I was doing a pretty convincing job. I would have been great for the theater department – if I hadn't dropped out.

While Mr. Snow demonstrated how to say, "May I have this seat?" in proper French, I thought back on how much I missed Glee Club. The heated solo-wars, crazy competition attire, misunderstood song assignment. My poor step-brother, Finn, always misunderstanding Mr. Schue…

Finn's mom started dating my dad last year. After the huge crush I had on Finn started to wear off. We butt heads quite often at first, especially when we had to share a bedroom. That's quite a story to tell now. Anyways, long story short, our parents got married, Finn became my step-brother, and we lived happily ever after, moving to a new house where we each got our own room.

The loud thud of a book being slammed against a desk immediately had my attention back at the front of the room where it belonged. Mr. Snow, along with the rest of the class, was staring at me. I hadn't realized until that moment, that being lost in my thoughts, I had annoyingly started to tap my foot against the leg of the desk – an impatient habit I've had for years. It was quite loud. I just glared at each of the faces turned back towards me, until one by one they turned back around.

I didn't really pay attention after that – it's not like I didn't already know the material. Some people were still staring at me, but they were easy to tune out. Neanderthals.

Fifteen minutes later, the bell finally rang. I stood and began gathering up my stuff. I was just about to step out the door when Mr. Snow called me back.

"Kurt? Can I have a word with you please?"

What could it be? My grades were perfect in every class. I was well above average – especially in this class. I did all my homework, most times turning it in early. And I did every single extra credit assignment, even though my grades didn't need it.

"Yes Mr. Snow?" I asked, working hard to keep my tone interested, my eyes from rolling. I was going to be late for class.

"Is something the matter, Kurt?" he asked. "You've been kind of out of it lately."

I scoffed. "I'm fine Mr. Snow. Really."

I was starting to feel uncomfortable. I was ready for the day to be over. Two more classes and my wish would be fulfilled.

"Okay….just remember: you can talk to me about anything. I'm here if you ever need me."

"Thanks Mr. Snow. I'll keep that in mind." I hoped my blushing cheeks didn't give me away. He was the only person to offer to hear my side of the story, rather than go along with the rumors milling around the school. All though the gesture was nice, I knew I'd never take him up on it. There was just too much.

I all but ran to my next class, barely having enough time to get my books from my locker, and make it to class on time.

I ran in and took my seat, barely missing the bell by a few spare seconds.

My hasty entrance was different from the usual one I tried to perform. I wanted to enter in a way that gave me at least _some _dignity from my fellow peers. But today, being late for the first time and all but flat out sprinting into the room ruined my façade. Hard as I try, I couldn't ignore the glares and slurs popping around the room. I sat up straight and smoothed out my clothing – my precious, designer clothing – and began opening to book to the assigned page on the board.

"Look at the _fag _sitting my himself. What a LOSER!" What began as a whisper ended in a shriek from none other than Dave Karofsky. I still wonder how he ever even made it into this class. This was an AP class, and if what I knew of David said anything, he isn't very smart.

Several students around him snickered, and one of the football goons to his right, tapped their knuckles together.

I wanted to melt into my chair. As it was, I cringed farther into the cold, hard metal of the ridiculous school desk. I tried as hard as I could to drown out the voices of the people around me, but they were all too loud, too ridiculous, and too narrow-minded to fully tune out. I was given some relief when Mrs. Snow (laughably, Mr. Snow's wife) entered the room and ordered the class' attention.

History was my least favorite class of the day. Mrs. Snow was an excellent, sweet teacher – much better than her husband - I just didn't favor the subject she taught. The Revolutionary War, the current topic we were studying, held no interest for me. I liked her much better when she taught English my freshman year.

The one hour class period seemed to drag even longer than French. Finally, the bell rang and I rushed as fast as could, down the hall, and up the stairs to the third floor.

I would never fully understand why the locker rooms were on the third floor, while the gym was on the first floor. It just didn't make sense.

Mr. Hershey had to be the hardest, rudest Physical Education teacher I had ever had. Of the four gym teachers this school offered, I was stuck with him. Homophobic, always picking favorites among those who tortured me, and occasionally jumping on the band-wagon of homophobic slurs himself. Man I hated him. I hated everyone in stupid, narrow-minded, small town Lima, Ohio.

I heaved a heavy sigh, and opened my gym locker. Today was only Monday. Four more days like this. Then finally, the weekend. Not like I had plans, I was just excited to be away from a place where everyone hated me so much.

I dressed out, and then headed to the main gym hall on the second floor, where we waited for the coaches to come out of their offices. I stood away from everyone else. A class of all burly, muscled boys, and there I stood, tall, but skinny and lanky.

The sudden blow of Hershey's whistle pulled me from my reverie. We all began the trek down to the gym, and began a light five minute jogging session around the gym.

When Hershey blows his whistle again five minutes later, we all head over and line up against the wall to begin roll-call. He called out each name loudly. When he came to mine, "HUMMEL!", I raised my hand and avoided eye-contact. I wasn't in the mood for gay or girl related jokes today.

Our work-out routines were usually the same from day to day. We all pretty much knew what to expect. I worked through P.E in a daze, knowing I'd have to take a shower tonight, because sweat in my hair –ew. Then headed upstairs to the locker rooms and changed back into my regular clothes.

Checking my reflection in the mirror to make sure my hair wasn't messed up, and my cheeks weren't too flushed, I washed my hands, then returned to my locker. After making sure I had everything, I slam the door closed, then hurry down to the first floor to my main locker. Thankfully, I had timed my entrance for when the halls were clear. I hated having to put on a show. And by now Karofsky and his goons were gone. Or so I'd thought, like I'd be so lucky.

In my haste, I run smack into David Karofsky himself. Dave's had a vengeance against me for years – back before even I myself knew I was gay.

I ended up dropping the load of text books on the floor. He just glared at me and watched as the books scattered clear across the hall. With one last _"Fag" _over his shoulder, he was walking away, kicking one of my books in his haste.

It wasn't as bad as it could have been. He must have had somewhere to go – no time for hits, kicks, or locker slams. Still, it was enough to shake me up, and I feel the traitor tears gather in the corner of my eyes. I always promise myself I won't let him get to me anymore, but it's hard. I sink down against my locker, and pull my knees tight against my chest. I try to focus on my English book, laying straight across from me, but by now the tears are falling, too thick to see through.

I feel a light tap on my left shoulder.

"Hey you. Wanna talk?"

I looked up and met the mesmerizing eyes and smile of Blaine.

"Take my hand, we're getting out of here."


End file.
